I Want To Hold Your Hand
by Nerd Herder
Summary: Slight AU. Charah from the point of view of Chuck's computer. Oneshot! Please review. :


A/N: So I know I haven't written anything in awhile, but I just happened to write this for my English class and my friend suggested I post it. It's a little weird, we were just supposed to pick some original plot, so I wrote a Charah fic from the point of view of Chuck's computer. And we had to write a poem in it, too, so… yeah. No beta, all mistakes are mine. Reviews make me happy. ;)

Disclaimer: Chuck and 'I Want To Hold Your Hand' (both versions) are certainly not mine. All for fun here. :)

I don't think he knows I know it all. See it all, hear it all, and feel it all. He has absolutely no clue. If you think about it, it's actually not very surprising. Nearly every thing he does, he runs by me. I'm always in his room, and my place in his room overlooks everything. The dusty, old guitar in the corner, his collectible _Tron_ poster by the door, his _iPod_ next to the plasma screen, the Sci-Fi books on the shelf above this desk, his king-size bed and the shoebox that contains anything that relates to _her_ he keeps under it. So now, I stare at him lying on his bed, idly picking out the loose goose feathers from an old pillow. He's still in his office uniform: the now wrinkled white short-sleeve button down and a gray tie strung loosely around his neck. He's probably thinking about _her_ again, it's really all he does nowadays.

Knock, knock. "Hey, Chuck."

Well, speak of the devil, there she is. With her luscious, golden hair and slim, athletic body, it's not hard to see why he's so in love with her. He immediately props himself up with his arms and moves his long, lanky legs to the side of his bed to take a seat. "Hey, Sarah. What're you doing here?" The look on his face is confused, but his hands are scrambling to straighten out his polo and smoothen his unruly hair.

"I'm just stopping by to check up on you… and to apologize to you for last night." Her gaze moves down to her feet, and she takes a few steps nearer where he is sitting. She gently pushes the large, wooden door closed and takes a seat on the rolling desk chair. Chuck is staring down at his hands, playing with his fingers when he asks nonchalantly, "What about last night?"

She exhales deeply, looks at Chuck and opens her mouth to speak. Before she can speak, however, he interjects quickly, "Look, before you say anything, I have to tell you that that was the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time. And I know you're going to say all that stuff about us being purely professional, but I don't care. You know how I feel about you and it's done."

Chuck inhales and exhales swiftly, trying to take as much oxygen in after exerting so much effort in delivering his speech. His chocolate brown eyes are moist with sadness, almost as if he knows what she's going to say next.

"Look, Chuck. I know this is getting hard to hear," Sarah sighs and closes her eyes for a moment, "But this isn't going to work. You said it yourself: it's just not normal. I slipped up and I'm sorry."

He stares at her with both pain and adoration, as if she's the Kryptonite to his Superman. "Sarah, I—

"No, Chuck. We both know any more of this will just make it harder. This," she moves her hand back and forth between them and continues, "Cannot work. It's dangerous. I have to go." She gets up from her chair and walks out of his room with her head down. You can tell it hurts her, too, which makes it even harder for Chuck to handle.

I look back to Chuck and I have to be honest, it hurts to see him like this. The expression on his face is hard, yet painful. His brow is scrunched together, his eyes full of torment and his mouth overturned in the most heartbreaking way. It's hard not to feel bad for the guy. His life was pretty good before all this happened. Sure, he didn't have a girl nor did he have a decent job, but he wasn't faced with life-threatening situations that put him on the spot with the world's fate upon his shoulders.

He didn't choose to do this, too. His former roommate sent him an email full of government secrets and he opened it. All of a sudden two different government agencies send their top officers to protect him and his whole world is turned upside down. Now he's stuck with this spy life. After reading the massive email, he lost his old computer, too. That must've hurt. I wouldn't want that to happen to me. Yikes.

If you'd ask him, though, if he had the chance to go back to his old life, he wouldn't do it. It sounds foolish, but if you asked him why, his answer would be easy to predict. "Sarah," he would say, swallowing the pain that came every time he thought of her. Sure, they can't be together. But I think he'd rather have her in his life (attainable or not) than not have her in his life at all. He's so desperately in love with her that no matter how many times he's tried to let go, he's ended up wanting her more each time. He's never going to let her go, not even if she were to be reassigned. He doesn't care about the restrictions that come with her as the handler and he the government asset; the only thing he cares about-- is her.

He's still in the same position as before, on the side of his bed, grief written all over his face, except now he has one white earphone in his left ear. I listen and hear _I Want To Hold Your Hand_ by The Beatles, but the slow and sullen adaptation from the _Across The Universe_ soundtrack. He sighs loudly and slips the other earphone into his right ear. He starts to pull his tie apart, unbuttoning his shirt in the process. Shedding the polo and dropping it on his bed, Chuck stretches his strong, lean arms and lets out a deep, defeated sigh.

Suddenly, his gaze transfers onto me and he stands from his bed. His tall, towering frame wobbles slightly from side to side as he takes a big step to sit on the desk chair Sarah sat on just a moment ago. He stares at me, and the light makes his face glow slightly. His face is blank, although you can tell he's thinking about something important.

He reaches for the keyboard and runs his dexterous fingers over the keys. He looks up at me once again and I notice his sharp, masculine features soften.

He starts to type.

_I Want To Hold Your Hand_

You smile at me with such warmth and passion,

It's hard to ignore and believe it's just part of your profession.

But you insist the prospect of us cannot be,

And it rips my heart to shreds; the hole in my chest left achy.

They say I should leave, run away like a madman

But, really, all I want to do is reach out and hold your hand.

Because in your eyes, those pools of cobalt blue,

I see deep inside you'd like to run away with me, too.

You tell me you don't have anyone, that you're all alone,

Why can't you see I'll be here, waiting for you no matter how long?

You say your line of work gives you no chance for a man,

But here I am right in front of you, just wanting to hold your hand.

You've denied me countless times, your angelic face made steely with resolve,

But I know you know you're already too much involved;

I'll give you everything, stand firm through the strife,

'Cause I never knew what love was, not before you came into my life.

My world is usually black and white, but I see in color when you're around.

All I want to do is hold your hand, to show you my love so profound.

Chuck looks at the screen and begins to read through what he had just written. I watch as his deep brown eyes move from side to side as he looks over every single word. He lifts his arms to the table, resting his elbows on the surface and places his chin on the back of his intertwined hands. His lips fold into a firm, straight line and he arches his neck forward to bring his forehead to his hands. He's thinking about her again.

"Sarah," he starts to mumble softly and slowly, "I wish we could. I wish you could hear me. I wish I could tell you how much I love you. I wish you'd never leave me. I wish you could read this." He looks back at the screen and places his right hand on the wireless mouse. "But I love you too much to cause you anymore trouble."

He clicks and drags the mouse over each line and stanza, until all of them are selected, and hits the 'delete' button. He sighs audibly then gently runs his finger over the power button on my side.

My screen goes blank and I sigh in pity and frustration, as Chuck walks back to his bed and starts playing with his pillow once again. He still has that look on his face, the one where he knows he shouldn't be thinking about her but still is. The poor boy.

Sometimes I think he should just give it up, find a normal girl and settle down. But I know that if he does that, he'll never be able to give that person all of himself, there will always be a part of him with Sarah. Even if he knows it would take a miracle for something to actually happen between them.

And sometimes I feel like he's being stupid, not telling her straight and specifically how he feels. The type of woman who makes your face light up and feel butterflies _every time_ you see her doesn't come around very often, you know.

I look at him now and I realize I'm thinking he's being stupid, deleting and refusing to show her what he had just wrote. I realize that, for once, I wish I could talk to him, knock some sense into him and convince him to just let it all out already. As Ross from friends would say, she's his lobster, his _one_.

I wrack my hard drive for an answer, searching for some way to give him a sign. It's not like I can just start automatically start typing messages for him you know. I might scare him away and he might throw me out. No way is that happening.

I look for ages, until I notice something unusual. It's a ghost file. I laugh at this discovery, Chuck's a certified computer technician, I would think he'd have found this by now. I open it and curiously read through the codes. After I finish browsing through the programming, I curse myself for not being able to smile. Because if I could, this would totally be a time for smiling.

The file was a "monitoring and infiltration software designed to record all activity on personal computers, including **un-saved** documents and progress" from the CIA. And who in Chuck's life, you ask, works for the CIA?

Sarah.


End file.
